Down the Barrel of a Gun
by sussiekitten
Summary: Modern Crime AU – You can keep running, but your past will always catch up with you. Slash. M-rated; please read the warnings.
1. Prologue

**Disclaimer:** I don't own Eragon or anything associated with the Inheritance Cycle.

**Claimer: ** I, SussieKitten, own this plot and the story. Borrow or steal my plot, my original characters (Aksel) or story and I will report you. I also own my version of Saphira/Thorn/Glaedr/Shruikan's human appearances.

**Warnings:** Implied Torture. Torture. Gore and Blood – usually from beatings. Hurt/Injuries – meaning that some people are going to get hurt. If any of this disturbs you, click on the "back" button. I won't tolerate any flames.

**A/N** Don't ask me what I'm doing; I'm not sure myself. But I really do want to share this story with you all; hence why I'm adding yet another unfinished project to my long, long list.

This is just a short prologue to get things started. But before you sit down to read, I want to make sure you all have read and understood the warnings up there.

Now, because this is FFNet, I won't be writing any of these things explicitly (for that, you'll have to head over to AO3), but there will be some serious hinting. Make sure you have the stomach for that before proceeding.

This will have similarities (to those who have read it) with my Red Haze/Black Mist stories. However, the fact that its crime related is basically where the similarities end. The cast is bigger, the pairings are a little shuffled and things are even darker.

But that is all I'm going to give away now. Please enjoy this teaser and be on the lookout, because the next chapter will be out shortly.

* * *

**Down the Barrel of a Gun**

**Prologue**

The pistol came down hard, bruising and tearing his cheek. Normally he would be able to keep himself upright, but this was not the first blow he had suffered that day, let alone the first in the past hour. He fell, ears ringing. Blood quickly welled up inside his mouth. He had bitten tongue. He gagged around it, spitting it out before the bile could fully from.

"Enough."

Even now, hours later, the voice was calm. He briefly wondered what it would take for the mask to crack.

"On his knees."

He was pulled up before he could do it himself. The hands were far from gentle. He could feel hairs being pulled out as they manhandled him to his knees.

"Show me his face."

His head was pulled back until he could see the face of his executioner. The hate hadn't faded. If anything, it had intensified. He watched the other man raise his gun and press it against his forehead.

He wondered how it had come to this, how all the years of fleeing had melted down to this. Months of planning, months of walking down the path he had run from. His father would have been proud of him, he thought bitterly.

And now it was just him, the cold, heavy weight of a .45 and a man that hated him.

He closed his eyes and waited for death to come.

_Bang_.

-;-

_But this is not how it really begins. Let me show you the rest of the story._

* * *

**A/N** And that was the teaser! Don't worry though, there is more. And that will be out shortly.

On another note; this story will be very different. The pairings won't be quite what you expect them to be, so be on the look-out when it comes to that. Some people might not even get a permanent partner. Hopefully you will all understand my reasons and choices as the story progresses. Think of _Restricted Access_ as my warm-up when it comes to the new and unexpected - pairing wise. I'm only getting started.

Until then, guys.


	2. Chapter One

**Disclaimer:** I don't own Eragon or anything associated with the Inheritance Cycle.

**Claimer: ** I, SussieKitten, own this plot and the story. Borrow or steal my plot, my original characters (Aksel) or story and I will report you. I also own my version of Saphira/Thorn/Glaedr/Shruikan's human appearances.

**Warnings:** Slash/Yaoi – meaning guy x guy. Swearing or strong language. Mentions of Character Death – mentioned only. Character Death – made up characters as of now. Implied Torture. Torture. Gore and Blood – usually from beatings. Femslash/Yuri – meaning hints of girl x girl. Het – meaning hints of boy x girl. Mentions of Suicidal tendencies and actions. Mentions of Alcohol and Drug abuse. Mentions of Rape/Underage Violation (Rape) – mentioned and hinted only. Hurt/Injuries – meaning that some people are going to get hurt. Sexual intercourse of the homosexual kind. If any of this disturbs you, click on the "back" button. I won't tolerate any flames.

**A/N** A huge thanks to everyone who reviewed and to those that still reads this story. It means a lot to know that you guys haven't given up on it yet.

I really meant to have this chapter up a lot sooner because of the short (teaser) prologue. Unfortunately, life usually doesn't care what you want.

I have gone back and forth with this piece a lot. I think I like this chapter the way it is, but we'll see. The reason is that this chapter can feel like a bit of an info-dump. But bear with me, all right? Every piece of information is important, especially later. Not that I'm gonna pop-quiz you about the Forsworn's most lucrative businesses later, but they will come up.

Until then, I hope you enjoy the chapter.

**Self-beta'ed.**

* * *

**Down the Barrel of a Gun**

**Chapter One**

_(One year earlier)_

Thorn was at his wits' end. It had taken them years to get this far. Years of surveillance and months of undercover work just to get into the outer circles of the organisation. They had spent weeks interrogating informants and homeless in the area. Thorn didn't know how many months they had spent moulding their best agents and planning everything down to the last detail.

It had taken the organisation three days to identify one of their agents and send him back in a 4 by 4 inch cardboard box. They had packed up and left before the local police had even had a chance to show up. Some other city was now undoubtedly the headquarters of the largest and nastiest criminal organisation modern day Alagaësia had ever seen.

Someone called his name. Thorn knew who it was, and he knew he was far from ready for this. He turned around nonetheless, looking past the other empty desks to look at the doorway.

"You ready?"

Thorn sighed. He rubbed his hands over his face, then ran them through his hair. It was getting long. He needed to cut it soon.

"No, but we might as well get it over with." He stood.

Vanir gave him a quick look-over. Thorn didn't bother to hide his grimace. Next to Vanir's near immaculate appearance, he was sure he looked like shit. But he could see the tension in Vanir's frame, in the bags under his eyes. One lock had escaped his strict ponytail.

Vanir gave him a quick nod before walking off.

Thorn gave another sigh. He tried to flatten his hair as he walked out of the room.

Their team were all gathered in the meeting room. Every board was plastered with maps, writing and pictures. Someone had dragged in another board while Thorn had been gone. It was already almost full of scribbled notes. Nasuada was wielding the pen. She smiled at him when he entered. Beside her, Arya gave a nod before grabbing Nasuada's pen and adding something to the board.

Most of the team was seated at the table, as well as Glaedr Geld from the undercover division. Thorn sat down next to Glaedr. The older man gave a sombre nod.

Thorn was glad he had gotten to the point where it was no longer awkward to see Glaedr at the workplace, even if they didn't see each other that often.

Across the table, Brom gave him a sharp nod. Vanir was already absorbed by a file, which he seemed to be cross-referencing with whatever he was looking at on his tablet.

That left only Roran. He was muttering into his phone, his back to the room, shoulders even more tense than usual. He hung up a few moments later and sat down in his usual seat.

"It seems we're ready to start," Brom said.

Vanir looked up from his file. He didn't look particularly happy to have been interrupted, but then again, he never really looked happy.

Nasuada grabbed the remote from the table and turned on the electric board mounted on the far wall. It still pained Thorn to look at the agent's face. It was amazing they had been able to identify him at all. The box hadn't contained much salvageable DNA.

"We've kept our eyes and ears out, and they seem to have settled in Uru'baen." Nasuada pressed a few buttons and the screen was filled with notes and pictures of the organisation.

They didn't know much, Thorn thought sourly, but the information they did have was precious. The underground called the organisation the Forsworn, because the membership was permanent. Traitors and deserters were met with a certain death. Families and friends of members often rejected their very existence. Once they signed up, their soul was forever in the devil's grasp.

They didn't know who the leader was apart from his code name; Rex. His second in command was a much of a ghost as his boss. They only knew him as the Black Hand. They had one grainy picture of the third in command, but it wasn't enough to run it through the database. All they had was his name; the Executioner.

Ten years ago, the Bureau had been able to interrogate Rex's fourth in command, the Enforcer. He hadn't said a word before his bail was paid and he'd walked out of there with a smirk on his face. That trail had gone cold when he'd been found murdered a year later.

Everything else was basic; they dealt it everything, as long as they got money out of it. So far they had been linked to kidnapping, torture, contract killings, drugs, corruption, weapons dealing, grand larceny, human trafficking, forced prostitution and even coldblooded murder. No one was safe, be they men, women or children.

"We have a few agents they haven't seen before, but we should take it slow. Let them settle and get comfortable before we send anyone in," Glaedr suggested.

Thorn couldn't blame him. It wasn't even a month since Glaedr had lost one of his best agents.

"It will take us at least a year to get back into their outer circles," Vanir said in his customary drawl. "If we managed to ID anyone within five years, it would be a miracle."

Arya crocked an eyebrow. "Someone's in a good mood."

Vanir snorted.

"You're both right," Nasuada put down the remote and sat down. Her hair looked unusually frizzy. Thorn hadn't seen her look this tired in ages. "We still have a few connections, but it's important that we wait. It won't be like starting from scratch, but it will take a while."

"We need more intel," Roran said and rubbed a hand over his eyes. "There has got to be an angle we haven't tried before. Something that would save us time."

"We've tried everything from friends, family and lovers of known members to rival gangs, customers and new recruits," Brom answered gruffly. "Infiltration is the only way."

Thorn stared at the picture of Rex's old fourth in command. For a long time, the FBI had been sure they could use his family to get into the organisation. The Enforcer had showed up in a search for a marriage licence and on a birth certificate. His wife had passed away some years earlier, but his son had been alive then, though barely into his teens. While they waited for the boy to grow up, his father had been killed. The son had disappeared only a few days later.

Thorn didn't know if they were still looking for the boy. If Thorn remembered correctly, the kid would be in his early twenties now, certainly old enough to help them. Of course, that didn't help much when he was missing. For all they knew, the kid was long dead.

Vanir seemed like he wanted to say something, but held his tongue. Thorn was surprised. Usually Vanir didn't hold anything back, be it constructive or sarcastic.

"Then our hands are tied." Glaedr leaned back in his seat. "You wait until you hear from the Uru'baen field office and I will keep training my men."

"I'll do some online digging, just in case," Arya volunteered, her eyes hard with determination.

Nasuada turned off the monitor. Her fingers stroked the remote absently. "I'll keep in touch with the field office. They must have underground connections we can take advantage of in the meantime."

Brom nodded. "I'll see you all again tomorrow."

Thorn stood slowly. He kept his eyes on Vanir as the other man headed out of the room rather quickly.

He shook his head. There was probably nothing off with Vanir's behaviour. He was just tired. After thirty hours on his feet, Thorn knew he needed to sleep. He vowed to do just that when he got home.

-;-

It had taken him two weeks, but Vanir was sure he was onto something this time. With Teller's approval, all he had to do was to find the godforsaken contact he was looking for. If it hadn't been for Teller's guarantee that this woman was the best and connected beyond his wildest imagination, he wouldn't have gone.

He turned up his collar against the wind. The October wind was strong and bore the chill of the approaching winter. Despite his impending location, he couldn't wait to get out of the cold.

Vanir sneered when the shop came into view. It was enough that he had been forced to go all the way to Dras-Leona to talk to this woman – who apparently didn't believe in technology unless it suited her – but now he had to actually go into a _Wicca shop_.

The shop had an actual sign that creaked as the wind played with it. What kind of shop had signs these days? Urgh.

Vanir pushed open the door and wrinkled his nose at the smells that assaulted his nose. He couldn't identify them all, but lavender was particularly strong, especially where he was standing. He barely managed not to sneeze.

The shop was on this side of poorly lit. He could see clearly enough, but the room seemed much darker further ahead. Vanir stuffed his hands into the pockets of his coat and tried to find the counter. The door didn't have a bell, nor had anyone called out as he entered. His chances of finding this woman by the counter was greater than if he started to roam the shop at random.

He tried not to look closely at the shelves as he passed them. They were full of all sorts of oddities; odd items, dusty books, herbs in bags or jars. In fact, there were plenty of jars to go around. Most of them were of dark glass or some other material, but some were clear and allowed him to see the contents. He tried not to gag when he saw a bloated spider staring back at him.

A yowl startled him enough to nearly stumble into one of the shelves. Vanir reached for his gun as a furred blur ran between his legs and disappeared.

A cat. _Of course_ this place had a cat. That was just _perfect_. Vanir fixed his coat before he put his hand back into his pocket. If his allergies acted up, then Vanir was going to demand hazard pay.

He came to the end of the row and finally found the counter. There was no one there, nor was there a note to tell him the shop was closed. A bowl of incense was still smoking beside an old-fashioned register. Vanir couldn't see a dock for any customers wanting to pay by card. Next to the bowl there was a bell and a note. 'Ring me', it said.

Vanir snorted. He wasn't touching that.

"What do you want?"

He jumped and turned around sharply. There was a boy, maybe twelve years of age, staring back at him. He looked every inch of a street boy with his unwashed hair and dirty clothes. Vanir tried not to sneer at him.

"I'll take it from here, Sol," another voice said, this one coming from somewhere to Vanir's right. As he watched, a woman stepped out of the shadows. Her hair was curly, almost bordering on fuzzy. With her billowy clothes and bangled wrists, Vanir thought she looked more like an eccentric art teacher than a Wiccan.

"Welcome to Angela's," the woman said. "I'm Angela. How can I help you?"

"Brom Teller sent me," Vanir said and looked between the boy and Angela. The little brat still hadn't disappeared.

Angela tilted her head, almost as if she had started to nod but stopped herself before she could. "Come with me. We should talk more privately." She walked behind the counter and through a doorway Vanir hadn't spotted before.

As soon as Angela disappeared, the boy sneered at Vanir. Vanir sneered back and quickly followed her. He _hated_ kids.

Angela led him past a round room with more incense and a table. Vanir glanced at the contents, noting only a set of cards and a bowl of what resembled dominos. She went through another doorway and up a narrow staircase. At the top, she unlocked a door and entered. Vanir followed reluctantly.

He found her sitting at a small table she clearly used to eat on. He tried not to focus on the rest of the room, as this was most likely where she lived. She gestured him to sit down and he did.

"What does that old goat want from me this time?" she asked and picked up a mug. After peering at the contents, she got up and walked over to the stove.

Vanir tried not to choke. He had heard people call Brom Teller all sorts of things, but that was a new nickname.

Angela grabbed a teakettle and filled it. "Would you care for some tea? Coffee?"

Vanir wrinkled his nose. "No thank you." He wasn't even unbuttoning his coat. He planned to get what he came for, then he was leaving again. "I came for some information."

Angela snorted and sat down. The bangles on her arms shifted and created a chorus of wood and metal knocking against each other. "I didn't think you came here to hear your future, boy, not if Brom sent you my way." Her sharp eyes took in his appearance. A smirk cross her lips before she spoke again. "No, you're clearly here for something else, G-man."

Vanir decided to ignore the hot flash in his cheeks. "We're looking for someone."

She crocked an eyebrow. "You can't find someone with your fancy technology, so old Brom sends you to Angela?"

"Yes." Vanir tried not to shift. This woman was truly unnerving. The sooner he got out, the better. "We don't have a proper profile on him because of who his parents were. We don't even know if he's still alive."

"If you want Angela to help you, you're going to have to do better than that, G-man."

Vanir cleared his throat. He was reluctant to pull out his phone and physically show her the information he had. He didn't want to disinfect it so soon after last time.

"We're looking for a boy. He disappeared nine years ago, after his father was murdered. He should be in his twenties by now, if he's still alive." Vanir hoped the kid was alive. He really did. If he was, then maybe they had an actual lead. "We don't know what he looks like today, but we know who his father was. There's a good chance he takes after his old man. We don't know what name he goes by now, as we assume he changed his name when he ran."

Angela continued to look at him. It was becoming more than unnerving. If she was blinking, Vanir couldn't tell.

"His father was Morzan Teytor."

The room fell into an oppressive silence. Vanir had a feeling he could reach out and touch the tension if he wanted to.

The teakettle started to shriek then. It was only through sheer determination that Vanir didn't jump or pull it out his gun.

Angela didn't even blink at the sound. She slowly got up and took the kettle off.

Vanir listened to her fill a mug and take it back to the table. When she sat down again, her face had hardened. Steam rose up before her and gave her an eerie quality. He felt like shivering.

"Why are you looking for that boy?" she asked. One of her hands stirred the contents of the mug. It was almost hypnotizing to watch.

"We hope that he might be able to help us bring down his father's gang."

Angela snorted loudly. Vanir did startle this time. "If he is even still alive, what makes you think he would help you?"

That was indeed their biggest fear. It was also why Brom had tasked Vanir and Vanir alone to look into the matter. If this lead fell through, then it was better if only they were aware it had even existed. There was no point in giving the others false hope.

"We don't expect anything from him. But if he was willing to help, he would help us bring down the nastiest criminal organisation Alagaësia has ever seen."

Angela took a sip of what Vanir guessed to be tea. "If he ran, he ran for a good reason," she said, voice firm. "The Forsworn are bad news. That doesn't change if your family is connected or a part of them. There is a reason you have so few snitches from their ranks, G-man."

They knew that. Traitors had one fate; the slowest and most painful death the Forsworn felt like administrating.

Her glare was positively venomous when she spoke next. "Unless you know what you're throwing him into, you better not ask me to tell you where he is."

Vanir felt something oddly like hope rise in his chest. She was hinting that the boy was alive. He pushed it down. He rarely hoped; he couldn't afford to do it now until she had given him anything solid.

"It will be up to him. If he declines, then we won't pressure him."

Angela rolled her eyes. She abandoned her mug and disappeared into a room Vanir guessed to be her bedroom. There were only three doors leading into the kitchen and living room combo he was in. One of those doors led downstairs. If she had gone to fetch something, he hypothesized that she would most likely have hidden it in her bedroom.

Angela emerged moments later carrying a small box. Its lid was up and she was rifling through it. She sat down just as she pulled out a card.

For a minute, she simply looked at it. When she turned her eyes back at Vanir, he couldn't stop himself from jumping. Her irises seemed almost white, her eyes were that pale. As she stared at him through the curtain of unruly red hair, he believed her to be every inch of the Wiccan she claimed to be. If he didn't know any better, he would have pegged her for a real-life witch.

"The future is not set in stone," she said and held out the card. "You better be sure you know where this path will lead you, or you're in for a few nasty surprises, G-man."

Vanir slowly reached out and took the card. Just as he wondered if she planned to let him have it, Angela let it go. She slammed the lid shut and covered it with a hand.

"Take care, Vanir Therr," she said, more of a warning than a well-wishing. "He will not be happy that you have found him."

Vanir looked down at the card to escape her prying eyes. 'Gareth Lund', it said. It was written in a blue pen that had faded slightly over time, though he could still clearly make out the name and number written on the card.

Vanir felt like a load had been lifted off his shoulders. He had found Teytor's son. _Finally_.

When he looked up, Angela was gone. The only thing she had left behind was the still steaming mug of tea.

He got up quickly. He put the card into his wallet and made sure it was safe before heading downstairs. He didn't see Angela, the child or the cat on his way out, and for that he was glad.

It was only when he was halfway home that Vanir remembered that he had never told Angela his name.

-;-

Brom looked up when there was a knock on his door. He wasn't surprised to see Vanir there, hair still wind-wild and paler than normal. The kid clearly hadn't been home yet.

He felt like chuckling. He remembered quite well his first few trips to Angela's. She had her way of making an impression.

"Did you get it?"

Vanir nodded and fished out his wallet. He walked forward as he pulled out a slightly yellowed card and held it out.

Brom accepted it and read it. The kid had done his homework. Gareth Lund wasn't anything near his real name, though he suspected Angela had helped him along. She had always had a soft spot for tortured souls.

"This is all she gave you?"

Vanir gave a sharp nod. "Next time, pick someone else. I'm not going back there."

Brom allowed himself to chuckle when Vanir stalked out of there.

He put down the card and picked up his phone. He dialled a number and waited for it to connect.

"This is Supervisory Special Agent Teller. I need you to run a name for me." His thumb brushed over the name as he said it aloud. "Lund. Gareth Lund."

-;-

Thorn actually felt alive when he showed up for work the first day in November. Gil'ead's roads were usually empty until around nine in the morning. Today was no different. The ride to work had been smooth and effortless.

Thorn flashed his badge as he walked into the building. It had been a secure location for as long as he had worked there. He was starting to like Gil'ead and hoped it would stay that way.

The office was alive and buzzing when he entered, though everyone seemed to be heading for the meeting room. A quick look from Brom confirmed it.

Five minutes later their team was seated and ready for another briefing. Thorn wondered if something had happened. Brom didn't look as gruff as normal. And, shock of shocks, Vanir looked very smug.

Brom cleared his throat and picked up the remote for once. Thorn leaned back and waited for the show to start.

"As of last week, we've made a small headway in the case. Thanks to Agent Therr's determination, we now might have a possible lead into the Forsworn_'_s inner ranks."

Thorn was surprised. They had been hammering at the inner-most ranks for years without finding a soft-spot. Vanir must have been working hard to find even the smallest of cracks.

Brom tapped his fingers against the remote as he continued. "We decided to keep this to ourselves until we were certain there was anything to report. As of last night, we finally have some solid information." He pressed the button and the electric board came to life. "Team, meet Gareth Lund."

Thorn leaned forward slightly and saw the others do the same. Only Vanir remained back, arms crossed and with a self-satisfied smirk on his lips.

Gareth Lund was a man that, according to his student licence, was twenty-two as of last September. Other photographs showed him as a slim man on the taller side of average height. His hair, while in a darker shade of blond, was obviously dyed. He wore thin-rimmed glasses in most of the pictures. His eyes stood out like beacons behind the frames.

"Gareth Lund is not his real name," Brom said and pressed another button on the remote. "Lund had his name changed eight years ago when he entered the system. He has been bounced all over ever since, going from one foster home to the next. He didn't settle until he was fostered and later adopted by the Lunds. As of last year, he moved and became one of many students in Carvahall."

There was something about Lund that made Thorn feel a weird sense of déjà vu. It was almost like he had seen him before.

"Thanks for Agent Therr and some digging from our tech people, we can now say that we're almost certain that Lund is Morzan Teytor's long lost son, Murtagh Morzansson."

Roran choked on his coffee. Thorn might have felt sympathetic if he hadn't been too busy staring at the picture in shock. Of course. There were clear pictures of Teytor from when they had brought him in for questioning. Morzansson's face was a little slimmer, his mouth a little wider, and his eyes were notably of a different colour, but there was no mistaking the resemblance.

"We haven't contacted Lund yet, nor are we sure he will cooperate." Brom shared a look with Vanir before continuing. "We need to take it slow with him. If he is indeed Teytor's son, he has every reason not to want to help us."

"But if you found him, how do you know the Forswornhasn't found him as well?" Arya asked. Out of the rest of them, she seemed to have recovered from the shock the fastest. Roran was still wiping at the stains on his shirt. Nasuada had a thoughtful frown on her face.

"Our informant wouldn't have handed over this information on pain of death, not even to the Forsworn," Brom assured her. He almost looked proud of that fact. "She is reluctant enough to deal with us, let alone criminal organisations. Luckily, she is usually persuaded if I'm the one making the call."

Roran stopped wiping just long enough for his shock to be registered by the others. When he went back to his shirt, he was scrubbing harder than ever. "Does aunt Sel know about this woman?"

Brom crocked an eyebrow at Roran. It was no secret that they were related by marriage. Thorn couldn't imagine working with his uncle, even if his uncle had been Brom. "Selena does indeed know her. I suspect they still somehow get together and gossip behind my back."

Roran snorted.

"So, what do we do?" Nasuada asked.

"We approach Lund on his own turf and ask to speak with him. Only two or three of us will go."

Thorn looked around the room quickly and wondered just who would be picked for this task, if Brom decided to use their team at all. Their speciality was organised crime, not talking to victims or survivors. "And who will that be?"

Brom's eyes met his and Thorn nearly flinched back. There was something there, almost a sort of amusement that made him wary. "Director Black and I came to the conclusion that it is best that we keep Lund's presumed identity within this team. Thorn, you should be glad to hear that you will be going there with Agents Black and Therr."

Nasuada met his eyes. Thorn wanted to groan.

A road-trip with Vanir? This was going to be _fun_.

-;-

Miles away, Gareth Lund stiffened and looked back the way he had come. People walked past him and around him, but he couldn't see anyone that was watching him in particular. But still, he couldn't quite shake the feeling he was being watched.

Gareth narrowed his eyes and curled his hand in his pocket. His keys were sharp against his palm. They would do for now.

Whoever was watching, for their sake, it was best that they stayed out of his way. He knew how to hurt people, and he wasn't shy about using the techniques if he had to.

His father hadn't taught him much, but he had taught Gareth that.

* * *

**A/N** A lol fact for whoever might be reading; I almost posted chapters 1 and 2 in the same document. That goes to show that you really should be awake when you do these kinds of things. LOL.

That is all for now. Until next time, which is hopefully sooner than the last. At least the next chapter is actually fully written out for once. Ahem.

I know you may already know some of the words, but I'm adding them all just in case.

**Glossary:**

_Wicca_ – a modern pagan religion. It's based on rituals and traditions. The wiccans have their own calendar with days that have special meaning to their religion. Wiccans focus on ritualistic and ceremonial practice of "magic". (short version. For more, free feel to google)

_G-man_ – slang for someone working for the government, in this case someone working in the FBI

_ID_ – short for Identify

_Intel_ – short for Intelligence, aka information


	3. Chapter Two

**Disclaimer:** I don't own Eragon or anything associated with the Inheritance Cycle.

**Claimer: ** I, SussieKitten, own this plot and the story. Borrow or steal my plot, my original characters (Aksel) or story and I will report you. I also own my version of Saphira/Thorn/Glaedr/Shruikan's human appearances.

**Warnings:** Slash/Yaoi – meaning guy x guy. Swearing or strong language. Mentions of Character Death – mentioned only. Character Death – made up characters as of now. Implied Torture. Femslash/Yuri – meaning hints of girl x girl. Het – meaning hints of boy x girl. Mentions of suicidal tendencies. If any of this disturbs you, click on the "back" button. I won't tolerate any flames.

**A/N** I want to thank everyone for their patience and wonderful reviews. A special thanks to my guest reviewers as well, whom I can't thank in person. You guys are all seriously awesome. :)

I have a lot of this story actually written, and I hope I can update it, if not frequently, then somewhat often. While I am struggling with chapter seven, I refuse to let it win. I know every step this story is going to take. I just need to write them.

And so I will. Just you watch me. ;)

**Self-betaed. You have been warned.**

* * *

**Down the Barrel of a Gun**

**Chapter Two**

The drive to Carvahall had flown by, filled with discussions of how to approach Lund. Thorn, while slow to reach the pinnacle of his temper, had clearly been close to shouting on the way. Nasuada wondered if Brom was getting some pleasure out of sending Vanir out with people he clashed with.

Then again, when Vanir was at his worst - smug and self-satisfied - he clashed with everyone.

Glaring matches aside, they had come to an agreement. Nasuada had made sure of that. She was the one with the least chance of scaring him off. If Lund was who Brom believed him to be, then they desperately needed his help.

When they arrived in Carvahall, the first thing they did was to check into the local hotel. They got separate rooms, though they were all next to each other. They were doing this without the local police. Brom wanted to do this under the radar, and Nasuada agreed. There was no point in raising suspicion, especially if Lund really wasn't Morzan's son.

"Now what do we do?" Thorn asked when they gathered in his room. "We can't just head onto the streets and hope to run into him."

"He's a student. We pull his records, see when he has classes and grab him after," Vanir drawled.

"Ambush him? Yes, that sounds like a brilliant idea."

"I don't hear you coming up with any brilliant suggestions."

Nasuada sighed. "It's too late to go after him today. We're going out to get some dinner. We can talk about how to find him tomorrow."

The boys gave her a wild-eyed stare. Nasuada supressed the urge to roll her eyes. Considering who her girlfriend was, and how determined Arya could get, she needed to have a firm hand. Arya was thin enough as it was. If someone didn't remind her to eat ever so often, she would have withered away to nothing by now.

Nasuada grabbed her bag and walked out, confident that they would follow.

-;-

It took them two days to track Lund down, even in a tiny place like Carvahall. When they did, Thorn had to laugh. Lund worked at the diner they had eaten at the first day. They must have missed him by a day or, if he had a different shift, by a few hours.

"Perhaps we should leave this to Marron, hm?" Vanir said as they watched him work.

Lund flashed a quick grin to one of the customers as he wrote down their order. He walked with the confidence of someone who knew who he was and was comfortable with it.

Nasuada crocked an eyebrow. "I didn't think you had a gaydar, Vanir."

Thorn blushed. Oh Lord, not this again. "We agreed that Nasuada would talk to him." Besides, he was bisexual, thank you very much. His ex-girlfriend could attest to that.

Nasuada pulled her coat tighter against herself. The wind was particularly sour that day. Thorn envied her the chance to go inside to talk to their guy.

"I agree with Thorn," she said. "Though you do have a point, Vanir. If we need someone to put on some charm, it certainly won't be you. You'd scare him away."

Vanir was still staring at her as she walked away. He seemed a little paler than usual.

"You all right?"

Vanir shook his head roughly and shoved his hands into the pockets of his coat. His mouth twisted into a sour grimace. "If I ever claim to find women attractive, feel free to shoot me. I will clearly have lost my mind. Better to end it all than to let madness take me."

Thorn frowned at him as Vanir started to mutter about insane women and why he had to put up with them.

He shook his head and looked back at the diner. He wished Nasuada the best of luck.

-;-

Nasuada's cheeks were still burning when she entered the diner. She didn't usually pull out her sass; that was more Arya's field than hers. However, she couldn't deny that it had felt unbearably good to put Vanir in his place.

The diner was just how she remembered it, though lighter and somehow cheerier in the light of day. It wasn't as packed as two nights ago, though there was a sizable lunch crowd. Hopefully she could pull Lund aside and talk to him now without interrupting his work.

"Table for one?"

Speak of the devil. Nasuada turned to him with a smile.

The pictures didn't do him justice, she found herself thinking. Lund was much more striking in person. She could almost call him pretty, though he was clearly a man and masculine.

"Gareth Lund?"

Lund visibly paused. His hand came up to pull out the pencil he kept behind his ear. "Yes, that's me."

"I was wondering if I could have a quick word with you. In your own time, of course."

Lund fingered the pencil. She suddenly found herself wondering if he thought of it as a potential weapon and whether he felt need to use it on her.

"Is something wrong?" he asked, carefully selecting each word. His posture seemed different. His shoulders had tensed and his other hand was hidden in the pocket of his apron. Nasuada wondered if he kept something else there that he could use to defend himself.

Even if Lund wasn't Teytor's son, he was clearly running from something.

"No. I just want to talk. I'm from the FBI."

Lund's eyes narrowed. He tilted his head slightly, though his eyes never left hers. "Joe, I'm taking my break now."

Joe, whoever he was, called back an affirmative.

"Very well. Let's talk."

-;-

Vanir was still muttering about diabolical women when Nasuada exited the diner. She crossed the streets, taking her time, though Vanir knew her well enough to see that she was actually hurrying.

"He's agreed to talk to us at the hotel tonight."

All right, so maybe women were good for something. But they were still insane.

"What did you tell him?" Thorn asked.

"I told him who I was and that I needed to talk to him in private about delicate matters. No details, nothing that I think will make him run." She paused, biting her lip. "I think he really might be the one. He's certainly running from something."

Vanir looked back at the diner and forced himself not to jump. Lund was looking right at them. There was nothing laidback about his posture now. He looked on edge, two seconds away from running...or attacking.

"He certainly looks like it."

Nasuada looked his way, but didn't speak.

Now they just had to wait for the night to fall and hope Lund showed up.

-;-

Nasuada had been waiting at the lobby for fifteen minutes when Lund walked through the doors. She could instantly tell that he was on guard. She noticed that he wore darker colours than he had worn in any of their pictures.

Either Lund was ready to reveal who he was, or he planned to make a quick getaway into the cover of darkness.

"Mr Lund."

Lund looked at her, eyes sharp, just like they had been that afternoon. "Gareth," he corrected her.

"Gareth. You can call me Nasuada, then." She stood. "I'll show you the way."

Gareth followed her, always one step behind her. He hadn't unzipped his jacket or relaxed in the slightest.

Nasuada led him to Thorn's room. She opened the door and let him enter first.

To his credit, Gareth didn't appear surprised at Vanir or Thorn's presence. He remained standing in the middle of the room, back stiff and hands carefully hidden in his pockets. Nasuada could tell he was holding onto something tightly from the look of his clenched biceps.

"Gareth, these are Agents Thorn Marron and Vanir Therr. I'm sure they won't mind if you call them by their first name."

Thorn smiled, though Vanir appeared suitably unimpressed. Nasuada had the urge to hit him over the head. _Boys_.

"Why don't you take a seat?" She gestured at the chair by the room's desk. Vanir and Thorn sat comfortably apart on the room's solitary bed. They had pulled a second chair to rest by the bed. She sat down only when Gareth did the same.

Gareth let his hands show for the first time that evening. He leaned back and let them rest, fingers woven together, on his stomach. His legs were crossed comfortably at the ankles.

All in all, he appeared completely at ease. Only the set of his shoulders and his hard eyes told them differently.

"Do you want me to take your jacket?"

"No." His eyes bored hard into hers. "Let's just get this over with."

Thorn cleared his throat. Gareth's eyes glanced in his direction quickly before landing back on her.

"The FBI has been trying to bring down a certain criminal organisation for close to thirty years now," she began.

"Cut the crap." Gareth leaned forward, elbows on his thighs, hands clinging to each other tightly. "If your kind can find me, then we don't have time for frivolities."

"You weren't easy to find, Gareth," she assured him. "We had to speak to Angela to get your name. Without her, we wouldn't have found you."

He narrowed his eyes at her.

"Bloody woman nearly devoured me when I came 'round," Vanir drawled. "She did not want to give you up lightly."

Gareth's face transformed. His lips twitched into a small smirk as he looked Vanir's way. Nasuada had seen that expression before, but only on pictures. The video hadn't done Teytor's face any justice. But this, watching Gareth do the same, was exactly like looking at a photograph of the Enforcer himself.

"Be glad you got out of there alive. I swear she eats human testicles for breakfast."

Vanir shuddered.

"Gareth, we need to know," she said, bringing his attention onto her again, "did she help you disappear? Are you really Murtagh Morzansson?"

Gareth leaned back. One of his hands ran through his hair. His roots were starting to show, dark like his eyelashes. "Morzansson is dead."

Vanir crocked an eyebrow. "And you know that how?"

"Because I killed him."

-;-

Gareth felt a rare, dark stab of satisfaction when he saw the shock on their faces. The feeling belonged to someone else, someone he had never allowed himself to become. Murtagh Morzansson had died a premature death before his fourteenth birthday. Gareth had taken his place. Just Gareth. The Lunds had been the last family to foster him, and later had adopted him. He owed them much of who he was.

But even as he pushed down the feeling, he knew it wasn't completely gone. Murtagh Morzansson might be dead, but Murtagh Teytor had every chance of being born of his remains.

"Let me rephrase that," Nasuada said, bringing him back to the present. "Did your name use to be Murtagh Morzansson?"

She caught on quick. Gareth could give her that.

"Yes."

He could see the relief in their eyes, on their bodies. He almost felt something like pity. He wasn't who they thought he was, and he would never be that boy again. He was dead, and Gareth had vowed never to disturb his ghost.

"If you came here to bring him back, then you've wasted a trip."

The tall guy - Gareth believed he was the one Nasuada had referred to as Thorn - was clearly confused. The snob, once he shook off the shock, seemed unimpressed again. Now he even looked annoyed.

Nasuada was still a quick study. Gareth could see the gears turning in her head.

"Once upon a time, I was Murtagh Morzansson," Gareth began. He owed them something of an explanation, he supposed. "Morzansson was snatched up by some bad people. He died in their care. A year or so later, I was born."

"You do realise you're referring yourself in third person, right?" Vanir drawled. If he kept this up, Gareth was going to refer to him simply as 'the snob'.

Would Gareth do that, he thought suddenly. Would Gareth sneer at people who thought they were better than others, or was it a flash from the person he had never managed to kill?

"How else would you want me to explain it?" Gareth crocked an eyebrow. He decided that his Gareth personality would let him give some sass, but outright mockery was not who he was. "When I was kidnapped, back when I was Murtagh, things happened. Bad things. To keep it from destroying me, I closed myself off. By the time I managed to run, I was no longer Murtagh Morzansson. Angela helped me build the foundation of Gareth. It helps me process what I've been through without wanting to slit my wrists."

Nasuada looked alarmed. She had no reason to be. Dying meant that _they_ had won. Gareth refused to let that happen.

"In other words, you won't help us."

Nasuada shot Vanir a look.

"If you came here for Murtagh Morzansson, then I _can't _help you," Gareth corrected him. "It's for his sake, as well as mine, that he remains dead. But I haven't said anything about not helping you at all."

He wasn't sure why he hadn't walked away already. Every part of him, even the darker half, wanted to be as far away from _them _as possible. But he did owe _them _for his stay. If he could put a dent in their pristine complexion, Murtagh Morzansson would surely rest in peace for good.

"I fail to see exactly how I would help, but I can do my best." Gareth forced back clouded images that inevitably rose up when he thought about the year he had spent locked away. "I know a few members by name, but no one of any significance. Teytor kept his mob life separate from his home life, when he bothered to be home, that is."

He caught the subtle shifts on their faces. Yes, he called Murtagh's father by his last name. Morzan had never been a real father. Murtagh had been raised by the housekeeper. Morzan occasionally came home to complain about his disappointing son before disappearing for another month or two.

He didn't miss the sudden guilty look that crossed Nasuada's face. He had a feeling he wasn't going to like what they said next.

"Any information you can give us would be of great help," Nasuada assured him. Gareth heard the 'but' before she said it. "But we came here in the hope that you would consider helping us in a slightly different manner."

"If you turn us down, we won't judge you or pressure you into changing your mind." Thorn looked honest enough. Gareth found himself believing the guy. That didn't mean he was making any promises.

"If we're lucky, we can sneak in an agent and maybe be able to make a few arrests in five years," Thorn continued. "We've been searching high and low for someone who could rise quicker in the ranks. Someone we could trust."

Gareth felt his blood turn to ice. Suddenly it all made sense, and he didn't like it one bit.

"No. I'm not going back there."

"We understand and respect that," Nasuada said quickly, cutting Vanir off before he could speak. Gareth was thankful for that. He wouldn't have been within the boundaries of nice if Vanir had tried to change his mind. "If you would still be willing to tell us what you know, we would be very grateful."

Gareth hated that he felt a sliver of guilt. They didn't know what they were asking of him. He had every right to turn them down.

"Can I do that here?"

She smiled at him. "Of course."

"It would have been better if you came back with us, to look at a few mug-shot maybe, but we respect your decision," Thorn said. "Anything you can tell us will be valuable."

Vanir wisely didn't have anything to add. Gareth liked him just a little better for that.

He leaned back and ignored the heat building up under his collar. He was leaving soon; there was no point in removing his jacket.

"All right." Gareth took a breath and started to talk.

-;-

Thorn felt cold when Lund left. Listening to him talk, even if he skimmed over the details of what they had done to him, made it ridiculously easy to paint a picture of what the Forsworn were truly capable of.

He didn't blame Lund one bit for not wanting to go back.

"I can't believe you're letting him go."

Thorn felt the rage burn slowly in his stomach. "If he doesn't go voluntarily, he doesn't go at all."

Vanir rolled his eyes.

"You could tell that they used to torture him," Thorn hissed angrily. "He was a child then! Think of what they would have done now to him now if he had returned."

"We have a team of profilers that create backgrounds for undercover agents. He wouldn't have just walked in and said that he wanted to join. We're hardly novices," Vanir drawled.

"It's different for him. He knows intimately what he would have been going back to. He lived through that once already. He can't even talk in first person when he talks about what happened!"

"Boys," Nasuada interrupted. Thorn was glad for her intervention. He was close to attacking Vanir if the sod didn't shut up soon. "He has made his decision. We will respect it."

Vanir sneered and got up.

"That means you, Vanir."

"Yes, ma'am." He brushed himself off and walked out.

Thorn pushed down the anger. Vanir could be so goddamn foolish sometimes!

"He's just upset that this lead fell through," Nasuada said gently. "We all are. He just deals with it differently."

Thorn snorted. That was an understatement.

"We didn't waste a trip." Nasuada gave him a soft smile. "We can go home with more information than we came with. That's always something."

Thorn watched her leave. The door shut with a soft 'snick'. Then there was only silence and his heavy breathing.

A part of him was angry on Lund's behalf. The FBI already knew how the Forsworntreated some of their victims, but to see the actual shadows on a man was different than just reading about it in a file. It made him want to crush the organisation until nothing, not even dust, remained of them.

Another part of him was disappointed, and he hated himself for that. Yes, he was disappointed that Lund couldn't help them more. Thorn hated that he wished Lund had agreed to go undercover. He hated that he was as disappointed that Vanir clearly was.

Most of all, he was just tired. He wanted to go home and forget about his job entirely. Sadly, he couldn't. People depended on him. Thorn refused to let anyone down again.

-;-

Brom could tell that Lund hadn't agreed to help them the minute his agents walked into the office. They didn't even have to debrief him; it was written in Vanir's scowl, Thorn's tense shoulders and Nasuada's sombre eyes.

It had been a long shot. Knowing the Forsworn and what they did, it would have taken a miracle for Lund to agree. But at least now they knew for sure that he was not an option.

Nonetheless, he waved them into his office and listened to them talk him through their weekend in Carvahall. He was pleasantly surprised that Lund had actually been of help after all. Any new information was welcome. He made a mental note to check up the names Lund had mentioned. Even if they weren't of importance, if they were alive they were going down.

"You did good, Agents."

Nasuada looked relieved, but Brom could see the disappointment underneath it. They still had a long way to go, but they were one small step closer.

Any step, no matter how small, mattered. And if they could take down some bastards at the same time, then Brom would be a very happy man.

-;-

Gareth brushed his thumb over the picture. It was the last one he had of his adopted parents.

Arthur and Ruby Lund had been in their fifties when they agreed to foster him, but that hadn't seemed to deter them from wanting to adopt him a few years later. Gareth owed them his life and his sanity. Without them he would have continued to bounce through the system. Gareth might have let his new personality disappear and let Murtagh Teytor take over, if nothing else than to survive.

Arthur and Ruby had died the year before in a car accident. The coroner had assured Gareth they had passed instantaneously. There had been no pain. It hadn't helped, not when he had only experienced a few years of their love.

For they had loved him. Gareth had been shocked to find that he had been included in their will. He could live comfortably off their money if he so wished, but he hadn't. He had gone back to school and stayed in his job. He knew that was what his parents would have wanted.

Gareth had few friends holding him in Carvahall. It was only Arthur and Ruby's ghosts tied him to Palancar Valley. He had a few acquaintances in his class, but little else. He preferred it that way.

The semester was almost over. He had one exam left, then he could just not apply for the spring semester. If he wanted to, he could go and help.

Gareth put the picture back on the shelf. He wondered what his parents would have wanted him to do.

Right now, he knew there were people suffering because of _them_,the Forsworn. Who was he to let them suffer when he could just go in there and help? The Agents had been onto something. Gareth was sure that, with the right background story and information, he could have slipped right back into that life. He could have made a difference, maybe even bring the monster down.

But he couldn't let himself. He still saw shadows in his dreams. His nightmares made him almost unable to sleep. How could he manage to play a Murtagh that would have gone back to that life voluntarily?

Gareth sighed and put his head in his hands.

He wasn't making a decision now. The future would bring whatever it saw fit to bring. For now, he was safe and comfortable in Carvahall.

If that changed, well, then it changed. For now it would remain status quo.

* * *

**A/N **The wheels are slowly turning. Stuff is happening, though maybe not as much right now. But soon, my darlings; soon.

You haven't seen half of what is going to happen.

Until next time. ;)


End file.
